Doesn't Sound Like You
by Writingwife83
Summary: One shot set between series 2 and 3. Molly readies herself to go out with Tom, the man her friends insist is perfect for her. Although she tries to take the first step in moving on, the evening also makes Molly wish for someone else who's very far away. Is it possible that there is someone thinking of her as well? Inspired by Ingrid Michaelson's "I'm Through."


**_Just a one shot that has been in my head for a while and I had to get it out! Hope you enjoy, and I hope you read it along with the song "I'm Through" because it's so beautiful. Really makes me think of Molly and how she must have tried to get on with her life after Sherlock left. :)_**

* * *

><p><em>"I'm going out again tonight. The first time in the longest time..."<em>

Molly ran her brush through her still damp hair as she stared blankly into the mirror. She wasn't feeling very pretty. Granted, she was still in a towel, her hair wasn't done, she wasn't dressed, and hadn't applied any makeup. But she could usually tell when she was going to feel pretty, and tonight wasn't going to be one of those nights. Tonight, she was going out because she felt like she should. Not so much because she really wanted to.

She laid her brush down and it knocked over the expensive wooden comb that still sat on her sink. Molly sighed and bent down to pick it up and hold it for a moment before placing it back where it had been. It had been in that spot, alongside all her own toiletries, for over a year now. It was stupid, but she couldn't put it away.

It was his, of course. Sherlock's few things that still graced her flat had become a bit like tiny monuments after his "death." There was the comb, razor, toothbrush, a change of clothes that sat in her wardrobe, a police badge of Lestrade's (who knows why), and a spare mobile phone. She couldn't bring herself to get rid of them, or even to put them away completely. They stayed exactly where he'd left them. Somehow, it seemed wrong not to leave them be. He couldn't be here right now...but at least his things could remain unchanged.

Molly had been convinced to go on a date tonight. His name was Tom, and he was a friend of a friend. Molly's girlfriend told her that he seemed like just her type, exactly the kind of guy she was into. Of course, the real meaning of that statement was simply the fact that he was a tall lean man with dark hair. Molly didn't have the heart to tell her friend that such things barely scratched the surface in describing what "her type" was.

She said no at first, but then went home and felt stupid for being so stubborn. She later sent her friend a text and agreed to go on a date with this Tom. It had been over a year, after all. For all she knew, Sherlock was never coming back. It was even possible that he was...

It didn't matter anyway, even if he did come back. She knew that if and when he walked back into the bustling city of London, things would be much the same as they always were. He would still be the man that he was, and always would be. Things would never change, at least not in the way she wished they would. She knew she needed some distraction for right now too. She needed to create a new kind of normal for herself.

At this point it felt like she was living a life that wasn't quite her own. It was missing something. And when you're missing something, you find yourself looking for it absolutely everywhere you go. Every corner she turned, she wondered if he'd pop up. She'd woken up from a light sleep the other night, thinking she heard Sherlock speaking to her. It turned out that there was some thunder rumbling in the distance. Every time the door of the morgue or lab opened, she wondered if he'd sweep in with his coat and scarf and dress shirts and hair and smile...

Molly needed to create a new world for herself. A world where she didn't see and hear Sherlock Holmes everywhere she looked. She needed someone else to focus on besides herself and her own sadness. Lord knows he was focused on his own problems, wherever he was.

And so Molly did get ready that night. She got herself ready, put on her "first date" dress, lightly curled her hair, and did her makeup. She met Tom at the designated restaurant, and was immediately impressed by how kind he was. He was cute too. He was indeed tall and slim with dark hair, and he dressed quite well.

They laughed and talked, he held the door for her, and he said he wanted to see her again. He didn't even wait till the end of the night to tell her. It was refreshing to feel so very wanted. There were no hidden motives, and no difficulty in reading signals. Tom liked her, she could tell...and that was nice.

She wouldn't lie to herself and say that there were no physical similarities between Tom and Sherlock. She knew there were. But to her, they were completely different men. There were so many more differences than similarities. And to her, that's exactly how it should be. Tom wasn't replacing Sherlock because...nobody could ever be Sherlock, except the man himself.

And it was interesting to her that most pronounced of all, perhaps, was the sound of his voice. Every time Tom spoke, Molly was reminded that this was most definitely not Sherlock Holmes. There were many things about Sherlock that could be imitated, but his voice was one thing she believed she'd never hear perfected by anyone but him. His voice...was his and his alone.

So no matter how lovely an evening she had with Tom, or how readily she agreed to see him again, she still went to bed praying that she'd get to hear Sherlock's voice again someday. One more time...and she was sure that would be enough.

She was sure she could live with that.

* * *

><p>Sherlock huddled on the mat that covered the dirt floor. It was times like this that he wished for all of this to be over. He didn't mind hiding out on cases once in a while, but this was becoming an almost daily occurrence. He'd had to jump from place to place, and even figure out how to eat occasionally. He had few connections and people to turn to. He was very much on his own.<p>

That was how it had to be, and he wouldn't back down till the job was done. He was here, doing without, for a reason. He wouldn't allow himself to look back and wish for what his life was. If he cared at all about that, he would focus on the task at hand in hopes that it would ensure his normal life return to him in the future.

But still, on a night like tonight, when he was cold and uncomfortable...he couldn't help but offer himself just a little comfort. It was only a tiny indulgence, and he tried to use it sparingly.

Sherlock reached into the breast pocket of the shabby jacket he wore and pulled out a mobile phone. He had downloaded a number of things to this device right before leaving London. He knew he needed a way to carry some information with him. But there was one thing he'd put on here which was somewhat frivolous.

The night on which he carefully planned his fake suicide took place in a hospital. That hospital had security cameras, so naturally they had to be cleared. Sherlock took it upon himself to do that on his own. But at the last second, he did something he hadn't planned. He connected a memory card to the computer, downloading some footage, and put it this spare mobile.

Sherlock propped himself against the wooden wall of the shed he had chosen for his night's rest, swallowed hard, and pressed play.

He had to hold the device close to hear the sound which he played low. The picture was grainy, but that didn't matter so much. The few times he allowed himself to use this method of distraction, he usually held it to his ear. It was the sound that mattered more than anything else.

_Tell me what's wrong._

He smiled a little, and waiting with baited breath, as if he hadn't heard it multiple times before and didn't know exactly what was coming.

_What do you need?_

No matter how many times he listened to it, he was always struck with the speed of her response...completely devoid of hesitation. He closed his eyes as her next softer words were about to be spoken, a simple repetition of her first question.

_What do you need?_

Sherlock shut it off at that point. He didn't really need to hear his own voice answer her. He knew exactly what he'd said next.

He stuck the mobile back into his jacket and sank down against the thin mat, hearing some rain starting on the roof above him. He inhaled deeply as he closed his eyes and relaxed a little, perhaps ready to get some sleep now. He released his breath slowly, and finished that part of the security footage himself with a whispered...

"You."


End file.
